Becoming Q
by Midnight12reader
Summary: As Q's head slammed into the side of the table, the only thing he saw, other than stars, was Bond coming at him like the wrath of God. The story of a relationship built on shattered illusions and new beginnings.
1. Becoming Q

**A.N.** This fiction is the first story in my series Becoming Q. It works as either a stand alone piece or as a prologue to later parts. Later parts and stand-alone pieces will be posted (in chronological order) as they are written as additional chapters to this work.

Summary: Transitions are rarely smooth at MI6. Some less so than others.

Becoming Q

by Midnight12reader

The massive punch of pain, terror, the overwhelming, consuming _fear_ of it all hit with the weight of a battering ram against his senses. It was almost enough to send him to his knees, crashing against his shields in waves with all the force of a sledgehammer against plaster. Only his iron fisted control, hard won, kept him on his feet at all.

Well, that and not an insignificant amount of pride. It wasn't enough, however, to keep his head from spinning or his vision from going hazy around the edges at the overwhelming amount of _feeling_. And it was pride, more than anything else at that moment, that kept him from blacking out. As the first wave hit his shields, he vaguely felt the building shake on it's foundations at the force of what appeared to be, if he had to guess, an explosion. The lights flickered once, twice, before dying out altogether. It was only a moment before the emergency lighting kicked in, leaving the room bathed in an eerie blue haze.

Ryan took a moment to simply breathe, the soft inhales and exhales echoing in the empty space, before slowly reaching up and removing the prescription safety glasses now perched precariously on his nose. He deftly set them aside with a muffled click, face blank in what he could self diagnose as a minor case of shock. Joy. He calmly picked up his regular pair and slide them into place with practiced motions.

Staring ahead, mind slightly numb but working to reboot, he slowly turned to face the reinforced door. He paused for a moment, turning back and unstrapping a small hand gun from its nesting place under the counter of the testing booth. Unthinkingly checking it's status, and sliding an extra clip into a spare pocket, he turned back to the door. You never knew, he thought idly, when a trigger would have to be pulled, but best be prepared either way. He smirked, his lips quirking up at the corners. Most would think him incapable. They would be wrong.

The thing he remembers most, thinking back on that day, isn't the dead bodies scattered across the floor as he had stepped out of the heavily fortified room, or the fires that had sprung up in the bomb's wake, but the silence. It was the silence that blanketed the whole event that had had him spurring himself to action after all, that had finally cleared away the final cobwebs that had blanked his mind. He thought it rather obvious really, and he wondered why none of the other staff that appeared to be wondering around in a fog had reached the same conclusion. No clamoring sirens, no insistent alerts equaled no standing security, equaled no guarantee that this wasn't only the first act in a greater scheme.

Ryan picked up his pace considerably after that, leaving the checking of the downed personnel to the other agents, as he strode quickly down and through the labyrinth of halls, absently tucking the gun into the small of his back and pulling a small contraption of his pocket as he went. His mind he controlled with a firm mental hand, quickly pulling his shields together and reinforcing them to the best of his now limited ability, determined to only think, and think quickly, not to feel, not now. That was something that could be pushed aside to be dealt with later, he promised himself.

He swiftly typed in a long string of code, waiting impatiently as his set protocols engaged, unlocking and unfolding the older security system and existing network for his perusal. It was only a matter of moments before he was connected to everything and better able to understand what had occurred above. Ryan had never really been good at following other people's protocols, or being surrounded by tech he wasn't allowed to actively control. If they hadn't wanted him plugging into the network and making improvements, they never should have hired him. He smiled grimly. Or maybe that was why they hired him the first place. One never knew with M. M was more than a little crazy, scarily so, or so he had been told, it had made some of her Double-O choices seem more understandable, so he was inclined to agree. He smirked as the relevant data began streaming across the small screen.

It appeared that the explosion had taken out M's main office floor, and had taken out most of Q branch's more vulnerable areas, in order to cripple their defenses and create a leak through which they could worm their way into their systems. While saddened at the loss of life, Ryan was satisfied that his improvements to the security system had not been in vain. Otherwise, they would have all been fucked by now.

With that cheery thought, Ryan reset the system with a swipe of his thumb, and engaged the necessary programming to begin to back tracking the signal to the source as, he made his way deeper into Q branch to assess the damage. As the main entrance to the inner sanctum of Q branch came into view, Ryan unconsciously straightened his shoulders and lengthened his stride, as he absent mindedly reached up and brushed bits of plaster out of his hair.

As he walked through the double doors and into the heart of Q branch, he was glad to see that none of the main agents had been severely injured, beyond a few scorch marks or minor burns, although the overall sense of chaos was troubling...and irritating.

"Enough." His voice carried easily over the general din, bringing the movement and voices to a satisfyingly abrupt halt. "That. Is. Quite. Enough." he demanded. "Don't you think?" he asked archly. He scanned the room, starring down those who met his eyes.

As one of the nearby agents, whose name Ryan had not yet bothered to learn, opened his mouth to comment, Ryan continued, "Where are Q and R?"

The agent's mouth closed with a soft click.

Silence fell, as slowly eyes were cast up first to the ceiling, as if they could see though to the stories above, before sinking slowly to stare unblinkingly at the floor. It was enough for the obvious conclusion to be reached. Wonderful, Ryan thought tiredly, as an agent coughed uncomfortably. He worked hard, squashing the momentary wave of hysteria that wanted to consume him, thinking of what would have to happen next, just wonderful.

"I see." Ryan finally stated quietly, burying the hurt, anger, _devastation_ deep and locking it into a dark corner of his mind to be felt later, much later, when he was alone and had the luxury of it. And could cry and fall apart and not have to worry about what this all means to him. To his future, to his heart. But now was not that time. His hand shook before steadying quietly at his side.

He watched them solemnly for a moment, soaking in their confusion and the faint threads of fear, before pushing it all aside, "Well, we still have a job to do." He reminded them, tonelessly. He waits, watching for the moment that it happens, when they all look at him and ask themselves if they can follow him, if they should listen, never mind that this is his place. That with R and Q, God, _ Q_ gone, they are _his_.

They jump as the previously dead monitors powered up suddenly around them, screens and lights slowly flickering on. "I suggest you get to it." His tone leaves no room for argument.

He confidently brings up the small tablet, flicking his fingers agilely across the screen. Assignments and data streams began popping up on nearby terminals, as bits of data and code began to stream across the larger monitors.

The television in the corner clicked on, as power was fully restored, volume off, but showing the turmoil on the street above. "We have a lot to do." he states quietly, almost to himself, eyes fixed momentarily on the broadcast images.

Slipping the small device into his pocket, Ryan strode down the short steps and toward the central bank of computers, Q's former home base, now apparently his. The agents parted in his wake, the majority deftly returning to their stations and beginning work on their assignments. Smart of them. Others continued to stare deftly still clearly in a state of shock. They clearly needed more veterans in the department, Ryan thought tiredly.

"Who the hell are you?" asked one of the agents, oh look the same idiot as last time, Ryan thought with a mental eye roll as he came to a sudden stop as eyes darted up to take in the spectacle. Finally found his voice apparently- what a pity. Must be a newbie to the branch, Ryan mused idly. He hadn't been keeping track. Not really his area. New minions were always _such_ a pain, especially when they weren't broken in by, well…it didn't matter now, did it? Time to get back into the game, his programs couldn't run themselves forever.

Ryan turned round slowly, taking time to lock eyes with the agent, "I'm your new Quartermaster." The 'idiot' went unsaid, but not unheard. "Now. Get. To. Work." He clipped out, patience fraying. With that he continued on his way, striding up to the central terminal and beginning to dive into the code that was laying itself out before his eyes. At the lack of movement coming from behind him, he slid one hand from the keyboard, eyes still locked on the screens before him. Reaching behind him, he deftly pulled the gun from the back of his trousers; bring it to rest calmly, deliberate at his side.

_Click._ He casually disengaged the safety with a flick of his thumb, the sound seemed to echo through the room. "If you'd rather…" the newly promoted Q queried icily. The bustle behind him was most satisfactory, he thought, as he neatly set the weapon down next to the keyboard. It was time to get started.

A.N. I have no idea what name Q would have gone by before becoming Q. 'Ryan' seemed as good a pick as any at the time. I apologize for any and all errors in this piece. This was mostly a short writing exercise to get the fanfiction-writing muscles working again that I thought others might enjoy, so any editing was minimal and cursory at best.


	2. Without Introduction

A.N. This is part two in my series Becoming Q. It is the second stand-alone/prologue to part three which will begin and continue on in the following chapters.

Summary: Q meets with M for the first time as Q. Officially, at least. It could have been considered an interview, a test of his mettle, but, well...they both know he isn't going anywhere.

Without Introduction

by Midnight12reader

"You truly are a marvel." M's sarcastic retort hung in the air as she took a seat behind her large desk. Q sat before her in one of two rather uncomfortable armchairs. "And a problem." She picked up a folder, tossing it in front of Q with a dull thump. The picture clipped to the outside was one of his better ones, he had to admit. Then again, he had made sure of it. First impressions were always important after all, even if they were on paper.

A small plume of dust had shot into the air as the folder made contact with the desk surface. Dust motes hung in the air, making the small, temporary office seem cozier than it really was. It was outwardly unaffected by the blast, but small touches could be seen here or there. Books sitting just not-so in the large bookshelf behind him. The dust and plaster that hadn't been wiped away. Not to mention the small stain in the far corner that Q was hoping was something other than an unpleasant bodily fluid. His nose wrinkled slightly at the thought. Standards were slipping.

They stared at each other, taking each other's measure. Q sat calmly, waiting for M to get to the point. They both knew why he was here...and that he wasn't going anywhere. He may not have known M, but he knew enough of her to know that. He was a prized asset after all. The chip in his arm was proof enough of that. Not that he was supposed to know about it. If they were going to get rid of him, well, he knew it wouldn't ever be with a pink slip.

Q shifted minutely, before stilling with a confident smirk, leaning back and propping an elbow on the seat's armrest. He wondered if M was going to be much longer, all the drama was becoming more than a little tedious. And he didn't want to leave the minions on their own for too long. They might start getting _ideas._ He watched idly as M paused, rising to stand and gaze out the bullet proof windows.

"Your actions, if one were to interpret them in a certain light, could even be called treasonous." M stated, turning around and piercing Q with a hawk-like stare.

The words hung in the air between them for a moment before Q merely raised an eyebrow, face cloaked in boredom.

M snorted softly. "Why am I not surprised?" A flash of longing, almost wistfulness, seemed to pass over her face.

"It was, after all, why you hired me, ma'am...If I'm not mistaken." Q spoke dryly.

"Well, it was a momentary lapse of judgment that can yet be corrected." M threw out as she reached out and picked up a discarded glass of scotch from the corner of her desk. She moved slowly across the room to a nearby couch, sinking into the couch cushions with a sigh and a muffled cough as the dust that had settled was disrupted. She waved a hand idly in the air, a faint twinkle of mischief in her eye. "If need be, of course." She relaxed slowly into the cushions, expression warming slightly.

Q huffed, conveying his amusement with a small upward tick of his lips.

"How do things stand?" M finally demanded, getting down to business.

Q straightened slightly in his seat. "Not as bad as previously expected." He began.

"Not bad!" M protested sharply.

"You should have let me update things sooner." Q defended calmly, icily, "Instead of giving me the run around and sloppy seconds on the mainframe." He thought back over the last few days, of the friends, well...co-workers that were now gone, and of the craziness that had become his life. He was, or at least had been in the process of being, groomed for this position, he knew that. It was why he was able to step up now. That and his inherent skills. He just...it was too soon. _Q._ His hands shook slightly.

"If they had been in place..." Q finally ground out.

"But they weren't." M stated, voice final. "Now get over it." She said briskly, clearing her throat. "We have bigger things to deal with at the moment." She paused expectantly.

"Their hacker was good... very good." Q finally admitted, although begrudgingly. "They got into the system through a back door in one of the older systems." He paused...waiting. M waved a hand impatiently, her expression stating that his point has been well made and that he best move on. He smiled grimly, before continuing, "They didn't get much. Nothing beyond a Level 3 clearance, disregarding the attention paid to your office. It was mostly showmanship. A 'look what I can do' maneuver. Amateurs." He scoffed, before the look on M's face gave him pause.

What...Oh. A bit not good then. The agents, right...well. "The list is out there, and obviously decoded. Nothing can be done about that from my end of things." He threw a pointed look at the agent outside. "Not really my area anymore."

"And Q Branch?" M asked dryly.

"Functional." Q responded, voice just as dry. "Nothing I can't deal with, of course."

"Of course." M echoed, smiling faintly. They sat for a moment in comfortable silence.

"We'll be moving to another facility" M finally stated, "Pack your bags." Another facility? Which...no. Oh, no. That just wouldn't do.

Q's forehead wrinkled in disdain. "You must be joking."

"I don't joke." M stated, raising and quietly draining the tumbler of scotch.

"It's a relic." Q pointed out, shuddering faintly at the thought of being cooped up there. "It would take more work to drag it into the 21st century then to simply upgrade the system here." He protested.

"It's been decided." M rose, setting the tumbler aside with a quiet click of glass on wood. Her expression told him arguing would be futile. Wonderful, he thought. Just wonderful. Ten to one they ended up in some rat infested shafted to the basement. He smoothed his face of all expression.

Q stood gracefully. "M."

"Q." M moved to retake her seat behind her desk, deftly disengaging the security measure with a push of a button. Q walked towards the door, waiting as it swung open. "Be sure to reacquaint yourself with the Double O's." She reminded him absently, reaching to pick up her glasses and sliding them on, peering over them at his back.

Q paused in the open doorway, taking a moment to look back. "Oh, I think I can manage." He smirked coldly before gliding out the door and letting it swing shut quietly behind him. He strolled down the hallway, taking out his tablet as he went. He chuckled quietly to himself. This was going to be fun...at least for him.


	3. Never Did Run Smooth

A.N. This is the third installment in my series Becoming Q.

Summary:

As Q's head slammed into the side of the table, the only thing he saw, other than stars, was Bond coming at him like the wrath of God.

The story of a relationship built on shattered illusions and new beginnings.

Never Did Run Smooth

by Midnight12reader

Chapter 1: Prologue-Freefall

Chapter Text

Prologue:

As Q's head slammed into the side of the table, the only thing he saw, other than stars, was Bond coming at him like the wrath of God. It was at that point that he somewhat hysterically began to reconsidered M's offer to stay on as Q. It wasn't often that a Q was given the option of retirement, outside of well, "retirement", but apparently good old M hadn't been read in yet on his full background or the far more likely scenario...knew Q was just dumb enough to turn him down. As his body started it's inelegant tumble to the ground, he determined to be less dumb in future. There was apparently too much stupidity going around as it was...no need to add to it. He snorted as he sat on the ground, momentarily dazed.

He shook his head, pulling himself up with a shaky hand grasping the edge of his desk, as 006 shoved Bond back a few steps. His head began to throb as blood began to slowly trickle down the side of his face from a small gash above his eye. He reached up tiredly, dabbing at the small cut with two fingers. He stared at his blood stained fingers as he rubbed the now sticky fingers together slightly. He laughed mirthlessly as he leaned back on the desk, carelessly smearing the glass surface with blood. He watched as Bond continued to half heartedly struggle with 006 in an attempt to reach him. Tiring of the sight, he calmly reached over and picked up the old-fashioned letter opener from it's place among a cupful of pens. Sentiment did have it's uses, it seemed. A quick twist of the wrist had it sailing smoothly through the air.

He wasn't surprised that even distracted by Bond, 006 was able to snatch it out of the air before it fully reached it's intended target and caused too much damage. But that didn't stop the small surge of satisfaction he felt as saw Bond's blood staining the tip of the silver blade in 006's grip.

"Getting old, Bond." He tisked softly, turning back to his terminal, confident in 006's ability to handle the older agent...to a point.

He pulled the Walther PPK out from the concealed compartment under his desk, the sound of the draw seeming to echo in the silence that had fallen over the branch at the start of yet another confrontation with Bond. It had gone on long enough. It all had. He was pleased to see that one minion at least had been smart enough to call security, useless as they would be against a Double-0. R at least, had been smart enough to call for back up, he was sure. And that surety was quickly rewarded, he smirked as heard Eve's distinctive gait as she stepped through the double doors and into Q Branch. Shaking his head, he turned around to finish dealing with Bond.

Leveling his gun at the out of control agent, face expressionless, he was sure he made quite the welcome.

"And how are you this fine day, Ms. Moneypenny?" he asked politely, gun raised. Bond had stilled at the sight of the gun, hand going to his own, before falling as Q's hand tightened threateningly on the grip of his own. "Pleasant, I hope?" he continued, cocking his head slightly as he assessed Bond for any further movement.

Eve arched an eyebrow, "Better than yours from the look of it." She looked back and forth between the two men, and around at the spectators. She casually dismissed 006 with a discrete nod. 006 left without a backwards glance.

"Oh, mine is about to get a lot better." Q assured her. His finger caressed the trigger. He was tempted, oh, so tempted.

"I don't know if that is going to help." Eve offered idly, "I tried it. And while it did feel good at the time," Eve smirked, "it unfortunately doesn't seem to take for very long." she replied, motioning to the older agent with a wave of her arm. "Now, let's-"

"What do you do with a stray dog, Ms. Moneypenny, that bites the hand that feeds it?" Q interrupted, cocking his head questioningly. "I tried, oh, have I tried, for _ her_ sake, if nothing else. But I am just about done. For I am running out of ideas... and more importantly...patience." He finished, bitingly.

"Don't move." he ground out as Bond began to edge closer, face a mask of righteous indignation. "If YOU would just-" he began, cuttingly.

"YOU blew my cover!" Bond roared, stalking back and forth. "Damn incompetent..." he grumbled loudly.

"Incompetent!" Q roared back, bringing the gun down, afraid he might actually pull the trigger on the infuriating idiot, "You're the one who tried to sleep with the man's PA! After I specifically told you not to!"

"I know what I'm doing." Bond scoffed infuriatingly. "I don't need some spotted-"

"She was a plant!," Q interrupted impatiently, tired of the whole song and dance from the agent, "One we knew about...and could have used. And despite the powers that your cock has on women, apparently it isn't strong enough to turn a gay woman straight. Get over it, Bond, you blew it. Are you even surprised at this point?" he asked sarcastically, ignoring the faint flinch that Bond quickly worked to cover. He was done pussy footing around.

He shot a cool glance up and down the agent, taking in what three months of botched and sloppy missions had wrought, far from impressed. "Because I'm not." He caught and held the older agent's eye, not hiding the disgust and disappointment he knew would be reflected there, knowing the truth would strike sharper and deeper than the blade of a mere letter opener. The older agent's eyes flickered briefly with emotion. He was too tired to care which one. He waited, the silence trickling along, until Bond finally looked away.

Q turned tiredly back to his desk, a hand reaching out to stabilize himself as he wavered slightly, smudging the glass top further. He placed the gun on the desk with a quiet click, before speaking hollowly to the man behind him, "Get out." He leaned on the desks with both hands, fitting down a passing wave of nausea as his vision swam, "Go to medical. Or go home. I don't rightly care where at this point. Just get out."

As Bond's steps faded away behind him, Q reached out a hand, slowly pulling his chair back around and gingerly taking a seat. He leaned forward, flicking his glasses off and massaging the bridge of his nose, willing the rising pain to a dull roar in the back of his head. As Eve stepped up behind him, he sighed.

"I'll fix it." He stated wearily.

"And what if you can't?" Eve asked practically.

He shoved the Walther back into place and combed his hair back with his fingers. "I'll fix it."

Eve sighed. "Q," She began, "you..."

"I'll fix it." He stated resolutely. He deftly slipped his glasses back on. "Now get on with you, I've got things to do." He smiled faintly, "Minions to manage...dogs to train..."

"Just don't shoot him." Eve ordered sternly over her shoulder as she turned to leave, before smiling slightly and temporizing. "At least not here, the paperwork, you know."

"No promises!" Q called out sharply as the doors closed behind her. "R." He stated quietly, smiling grimly as she stepped up beside him a heartbeat later, "We have some work to do. Let's get started."


	4. Never Did Run Smooth-Ch2

A.N. Fair warning that this chapter contains a fair amount of slash. To comply with the M rating, a slash cut was necessary and some modifications were necessary from my original story so that it could be posted for my friends here on . The full version of this chapter, if you would prefer to read it, is available on A03.

Never Did Run Smooth

by Midnight12reader

Chapter 2

Q breezed through the lobby of Bond's hotel later that evening, jacket ruffling in the wind as the doors shut behind him with a dignified hush, closing out the unwashed masses.

Taking in the granite floors and marble columns, Q rolled his eyes at the extravagance of his surroundings. He was all for creature comforts, but Bond took it to an entirely new level. Although how the agent could afford a hotel room on the top floor of this establishment was mystery seeing as his bank accounts were still frozen. Pesky things, electronic forms, easier to displace than the traditional paper, and the paperwork involved for coming back from the dead was not inconsiderable. He almost felt bad for Bond...almost. He smirked faintly. The agent brought most of his woes on himself after all.

He crossed the large lobby smoothly, navigating through the sea of couches, columns, and complimentary carts with ease. He raised an eyebrow at some of the clientele, recognizing more than one face as he passed by the draped entrance to the hotel bar.

He snorted as he reached the express elevator. It was nothing to momentarily hack into the grid through his mobile and remote access the lift system on the cab ride over. He had expected better security. The doors opened with a muffled chime, and Q strolled onto the plush carpeting, straightening his jacket as he gazed at himself in the mirrored walls. He barely felt the elevator move as he began to ascend to the upper levels. Honestly, the security was severely under par for a Double-O's domicile, he frowned, but then again, Bond could probably qualify as a security system in and of himself. He shook himself as the elevator chimed and the doors smoothly opened.

He stepped over the threshhold onto the penthouse floor with another roll of his eyes as he was met by a gold door knocker in the shape of a buck and the numbers 1007. Why wasn't he surprised? The knocker hit the door with a resounding bang as Q rapped it against the solid mahogany door. He stepped back, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, as he waited for the agent to allow him entrance...and waited.

Patience waning, Q dug out his mobile, thumbs working across the keys. Slipping it back into his pocket, he waited.

As if on cue, the dull clicking of the lock mechanism disengaging could be heard though the door as Bond pulled the door open with a snap. Bond leaned against the door jam, arms folded, as he slowly took in the younger man's rumpled appearance and stitched brow with cool disinterest.

Q quirked an eyebrow at the display, outwardly unmoved by the agents continued dramatics. Bond's disdain was easy to deal with and dismiss, the banked heat in his gaze and the predatory way Bond liked to stare at him-less so. Bond had toned down any overt signs of interest as Q had refused to even acknowledge their existence over the past months, but it didn't seem to stop Bond from falling back into hold habits from time to time. It seemed the altercation today may have rekindled the man's calculated interest.

Q was far from happy with the agent's mind games, however, he wasn't about to give the other man the satisfaction of unnerving him. He had dealt with worse. Let Bond try and use sex to try and manipulate him, let him see how far he could get...and how wrong he really was. He stared coolly at the older man, face blank, until Bond finally unbent.

Bond motioned the man in with a mockingly elegant flourish, holding the door wide. Q slipped out of his shoes after eyeing the agent's sock covered feet and expectant air with banked amusement.

Q walked through the lavish entry way with it's antique tables and French tile without batting an eye, only to stop mid-step as two green eyes peeked at him from over the divan. He eyed the black cat distrustfully as he made his way past the feline and to the bank of windows that highlighted the London skyline, sure Bond would follow. He stiffened slightly as Bond stepped up quietly beside him, arm brushing his own.

"Jumpy?" Bond asked with a dark chuckle. He took a sip out of a tumbler of bourbon before casually offering the second tumbler in his grasp to Q. Q didn't bother to reply, reaching out and taking the glass, fingers brushing against Bond's unconcernedly. They both stared out at the skyline as the day slowly melted away and the lights of London began to glow, casting them into shadow. Q caught Bond's reflection as he eyed him out of the corner of his eye. He merely waited for the agent to speak. Bond's patience-or lack of it, was legendary.

"Thought you were afraid of heights." Bond finally rumbled, as he drained his glass and moved away from the window, most likely in search of another.

"Planes." Q remarked, matter-of-factly, as he moved to the end table and flicked on a light, following Bond's progress as he moved across the room to poor himself another drink. "Or, to be more accurate, flying." His eyes flickered from the moving figure to the half empty bottle before coming to rest on the feline that had yet to move.

Q sat himself down on the sofa, picking an imaginary piece of lint off of his trousers as he eyed the cat balefully. As the cat remained asleep, he slowly leaned back into the cushions, before turning to Bond. He jolted slightly to find the agent staring intently at him from over the rim of his drink. He stilled, waiting for Bond to make the first move.

"What do you want Q?" Bond asked gruffly, gracefully sliding into an armchair. "This isn't a social visit. We don't do social." He set the half empty tumbler aside with a click, crossing his legs gracefully. "We barely do professional."

"Quite." Q agreed frostily before getting to the point, finding no reason to drag it out any longer. "M want you gone," he said bluntly. "And at the moment, I am disinclined to argue with him." Bond twitches.

"It can hardly be a surprise, " Q coldly continued, arching an eyebrow at the agent's expression, "With the last few months being as they were, he is more than convinced that mandatory retirement is the best solution for everyone-well, to be fair, " Q smirked faintly, "the best solution for you. You should thank his ties to the former M and your years of more effective service, otherwise, I'm sure you would have been taken out behind the proverbial wood shed and shot by now."

Q crossed his legs slowly, the whisper of fabric the only sound in the quiet apartment as he paused. Bond's eyes seemed to latch onto the movement, slowly raising to catch Q's gaze.

"Mandatory retirement, Bond. Take it and be grateful." The charged silence dragged on.

"If M thinks" Bond began, before being coolly cut off, "M can think and do whatever he likes, Bond, it comes with being M." Q quipped, "And one spy, in his mind, can simply be replaced by another...and sometimes even better, model." He stood calmly, absently straightening his jacket.

"Thanks for the drink." He said, placing his tumbler on the end table. He turned to leave, job done for the night. He was far from satisfied, but it would do for now, he thought as he made his way back to the entry room.

He was two steps from the door when he was yanked around by an iron grip on his wrist, coming face to face with Bond, his face screwed up in a snarl. He hissed faintly as the bones ground together as he was whipped around. He yanked on his wrist, unsurprised when he was unable to pull free. He stilled, unwilling to look like a fool by struggling ineffectively.

"Retirement?!" Bond growled. "So they can replace us all with fresh faced boys like you." He hissed in disgust, pushing Q back until his back hit one of the decorative support columns with a thump, pushing his face close to his as growled, "What do you know about hard choices? This is all a game to you, isn't it?-something you can manipulate, with chess pieces you can control at will...that you can 'handle'. Do you hate that you can't 'handle' me, Q? Is that what this is? A pretty little boy upset that his feelings got hurt, so he goes crying to daddy."

"Not a boy, Bond." Q hissed back, "Your Quartermaster. Your _Handler_, whether you like it or not. Because, guess what? I'm goddamn irreplaceable, and you, you they can-" He was cut off as Bond's lips slammed down on his, cutting off his air. He groaned as his head was forced back roughly against the hard column behind him. He gasped softly as Bond finally backed off enough to finally let him breath.

"Do you want to manipulate me, Q?" Bond whispered darkly into Q's ear. "Do you really think _you_ can handle me?" He laughed mockingly. He yanked Q forward only to spin him around and shove him face-first into the column. "Prove it." Bond challenged, voice turning cold and calculating.

As Bond twisted his arm up and around his back, Q struggled weakly, throwing out his other hand in an attempt to gain purchase on the smooth marble and push back against the weight against his back. He stilled as teeth sank into the side of his neck, biting just short of drawing blood.

"Bond." He warned hoarsely, only to moan as Bond's free hand wrapped around his cock and began to massage him roughly through his trousers. It had been so long. He flushed as Bond chuckled against his neck at the hardness he found.

"Really, Q." Bond mocked roughly, stroking roughly, grinning as the younger man began to squirm back into him in an attempt to get away. "I had no idea." He leaned back, deftly evading Q's attempt at a head butt as he began to roll his hips. His hand moved upward, reaching for and finding a zipper easily, drawing it down with a yank and pulling the fabric down over bony hips until the trousers pooled on the floor at Q's feet.

Bond yanked Q's hands up over his head, securing them to the pillar with one hand, leaving one hand free to play. Q shivered as Bond licked a patch of skin on his nape and lapped at the bite mark on his neck. Bond's free hand wandered under Q's shirt, roughly tweaking the nipples he found to stiff peaks with gun-calloused hands. Q bit back a moan as Bond deftly slipped his hand free, scrapping a nail across a sensitive bud as he withdrew, only to jerk as Bond ripped his shirt open with one hard pull. More than one button fell to the floor with a muffled ping.

Q couldn't hold back a moan as his overheated, overly sensitive chest was pushed flush against the marble and an answering hardness pushed insistently against his backside. HIs breath hitched as Bond's hand rustled behind him and the sound of him unbuckling his belt reached his ears and the rasp of a zipper. Apparently, some rumors were true after all.

He hid a grin in the curve of a trapped arm, that and more, he thought with a moan as his silk pants joined his trousers on the tile after a hand fisted in the material and yanked it down roughly exposing his ass to Bond's eyes.

Bond huffed against his neck. His grip tightened on his locked hands, grinding his wrists against one another distractingly, shooting a delicious sliver of pain along his spine. His open zipper rasped against his skin, sending delicious thrills of anticipation through his body, making his breath hitch.

"Bond." He finally moaned.

"Get on with it." He bit out, as the calloused hand that had been sliding up and down his knobbed back and across his chest under his ruined shirt locked onto his hip, digging in hard enough to bruise.

"Yes, Q." Bond drawled mockingly, voice gratifyingly heated, before he did indeed 'get on with it.' And quite well too.

**********Slash Cut (Go to A03 for full version)*********************************

His breathing slowed as Bond held him in place through the after shocks. "Hush, now, Q." Bond murmured, only slightly mocking. "It's over."

Q turned in Bond's embrace, leaning back on the cool column with a look of satisfaction on his face, enjoying the look of surprise on the Double-O's face. "Oh, Bond, we're just getting started." he drawled, putting his palm to the other agent's cheek. He patted the agent's cheek, enjoying the look of outrage it provoked, before lightly pushing the agent back a step with a hand on Bond's still clothed chest.

He looked down at his body, bruised, shirt ripped, jacket open, and completely satisfied and well fucked out. He took a step to the side, stepping out of his pool of clothing Bond had created, before letting his jacket and ruined shirt slither down his arms and off his body to pool at the floor beside the rest of his clothing.

He walked down the hallway toward the bathroom before turning and looking at the floor, "Do clean that up, won't you?" His glance took in the ripped and dirty pile of clothes and the debauched state of the once immaculate entry, as well as the agent standing there half dressed. He took a look at the agent's now half hard cock. "And put that away. Play time is over. Time to get to work."

Q cocked an eyebrow at the older man's expression, "Really, Bond, although retirement was always M's solution, I never said it was mine." He enjoyed the look of surprise that passed over Bond's features.

"And although I feel it's time for an upgrade," he continued, letting his eyes pass up and down the man's from, "I've always enjoyed working on older models." He smirked, enjoying seeing the agent struggle to hide behind his usual blank mask. He turned and entered the bathroom, closing the door with a quiet click before letting the smirk fall away.

He stared at himself in the mirror above the sink, at the dark eyes and too white features. He sighed. Pushing his hand through his hair, he turned to the shower flicking it on with a twist of the wrist. He smiled faintly at the multiple shower heads and array of expensive products on the tiled shelf, watching the steam rise before stepping in. Shaking his head, he leaned into the spray. "Damn you, M." he murmured, closing his eyes and letting the shower wash him clean...or as clean as he was ever going to get.


	5. Never Did Run Smooth-Ch3

Never Did Run Smooth

by Midnight12reader

Chapter 3

Q was frankly surprised that he was able to finish his shower completely unmolested. Either Bond was out there licking his wounds-unlikely in a Double-O that was more suited to action than not, or he was out there strategizing-the far more likely and troublesome scenario. Bond, despite his many protestations to the contrary, wasn't as dumb as he looked-unfortunately. Bond was more than capable of holding his own when given proper motivation. It was just finding and implementing the right motivation that was going to be the most troublesome.

He sighed as he turned the stream of water off with a flick of the wrist. Slicking back his hair with one hand, he stepped out of the shower. He pulled a towel from the glass covered cabinet to his left and used it to dry his face, hissing as the fabric rasped against the cut on his face.

The situation he now found himself in was far from ideal, he was unfortunately keenly aware of the down falls. After all, this wasn't a new song or dance by any means, but when he had signed on with MI-6 this was all supposed to be behind him. A clean slate, M had said, or at least the former had...

Q rubbed his head vigorously with the towel as he snorted quietly. New management was always a bitch, but he had expected more from the new M. They had been off to such a good start after his intervention with the Skyfall mission, but apparently that good will was short lived. Turns out M was as conniving and ruthless as the last when needs suited, but at least he was more open to negotiation. Q smirked.

He turned to the mirror, wiping the condensation off and grimacing at the state of his hair. Reaching up to comb his fingers through the thick mass, he admired the bruises he could see forming on his wrists. A tangible reminder was always best, you never knew when it may be of use. Hair sorted, he turned to a small closet, hoping Bond was decadent enough to have a spare robe even in the guest bath.

Finding a silk robe on the back of the closet door, he slipped it on, the silk sliding easily over his skin and settling into place. Although larger than he would have liked, the garment would do nicely for what he had in mind. Securing the belt, Q took one last look in the mirror before turning to leave.

Q cocked an eye-brow in faint surprise a moment later when the open door revealed a pair of comfortable slippers sitting just outside the bathroom doorway. He deftly slipped them on, before continuing on down the now dimly lit hallway back toward the living room. As he passed the entry way, he glanced over towards the door, unsurprised to find that all evidence of their little dalliance had disappeared in his absence. In this, at least, Bond was terribly predictable.

The whisper of silk against skin was the only indication of his arrival as he glided over to stand next to Bond near the wide expanse of windows in an echo of their earlier positions. Slipping his hands into adjacent sleeves, Q waited quietly as he leaned slightly against the glass with one shoulder.

Bond shifted, his tumbler bumping against the window with the clink of glass against glass as he raised it for another sip. The light Q had turned on before in the dimming apartment was gradually joined by others slowly coming on in response to the late hour and diminishing light. They waited together as the outer view were slowly overtaken by their own images in the glass.

Q finally turned away, skin becoming chilled after standing so long in front of the cool glass. Time to move this along, he thought.

"Well?" Bond asked gruffly as he turned back around, leaning elegantly against the glass as he watched Q make his way to the now empty couch.

Bond's near empty tumbler hung loosely from the tips of his fingers as he raised the glass and drained it, all the while staring at Q's back. Q could feel Bond's stare as it moved over his body as the silk flowed freely around his legs. He shivered imperceptibly. Q moved to sit, reclaiming his seat from earlier. He caught Bond's gaze as he turned, holding it until the agent glanced away.

Q reclined slowly into the cushions, drawing his legs up and under the silk, aware of how young it made him look to the older agent, but not really giving a damn. "Well...if you aren't ready for retirement, than you need to make sure you are up to the challenges of your younger counterparts." He stated matter-of-factly, hoping for more of a response from the agent.

"Really, Q? Am I not up to snuff?" Bond threw a look at the doorway, clearly referencing their earlier activities. How refreshingly naïve.

Q slowly raised an eyebrow. "You seemed satisfied enough with my performance." Bond continued, the hint of a satisfied smirk crossing his features.

"If your performance in bed was equitable to your performance in the field than I wouldn't be here." Q calmly replied, refusing to be baited or manipulated by such a cheap trick as a spot of sex. "However, unfortunately for you, not all of your missions can take place in and around the bedroom, 007. " Q sneered faintly.

Bond snorted in response. "Than give me a real mission instead of all these fluff pieces," he demanded gruffly.

Q shook his head slowly from side to side, mockingly, "What must it be like in your silly little head?" he scoffed. "Your fellow Double-Os can outrun you, on an average day-out shoot you, and are statistically more likely to complete mission on time and more importantly-especially in these oh-so trying times-within budget and without stepping on any unwanted toes." Q had risen to his feet as he spoke, advancing on the older agent. He reached out and poked the other agent sharply in the chest.

"You!" He snapped as his bony finger dug into Bond's hard chest, enjoying the way the older man's nostrils flared in outrage. "You are becoming obsolete, a dinosaur, an embarrassing cautionary tale to younger agents and to those who have supported you...and you want a 'real' mission!"

Q sneered in derisive disbelief as he took a step away from the now quietly fuming agent. He watched calculatingly as Bond made yet another trip to the rapidly depleting bottle.

"And it must not come to a surprise at this point, Bond, but that support is gone. She is gone," he reminded sharply, "Be glad that you got the 'fluff pieces' as you call them, and be grateful they lasted as long as they did."

"Do you think I don't know that?!" Bond growled out as he turned sharply around, frustration and anger coloring his voice and stiffening his shoulders. "I know where she is-in the goddamn ground." He snarled, before hurling his glass against the wall hard enough to shatter and sending shards sailing.

Bond leaned against the side table with both hands, head bowed. His heavy breathing echoed in the space between them as it gradually slowed.

Q stood, hands on his hips until Bond finally straightened, combing his hair back into place with a practiced hand, before reaching out and grabbing the bottle with one hand as he turned to face Q. "I know where she is." Bond stated hollowly. "Leave her out of this. "

Q stepped quickly forward as Bond raised the bottle to his lips."Oh, she is right in the middle of this," he snarled, as he snagged the bottle and hurled it against the wall, enjoying the tinkle of glass as it joined it's counterpart on the floor.

"Don't delude yourself," he snapped, "Unless you can think of another excuse for your near uselessness as of late, beyond _that_." He waved an arm at the liquor now staining the walls and floor.

"But then again, _that_ is hardly new," he chuckled humorlessly, "We all know you are a functioning alcoholic, have been so for years, but now, Bond, now you just can't pull it off, can you?" He mocked, leaning forward slightly, "Are you so emotionally compromised you can't see that or are you just getting too old to play the game?" He arched an eyebrow mockingly. "Perhaps you need to be put out to pasture and just brought in every once and a while for a good fuck."

Bond pounced, but Q was more than prepared to meet him. As Bond reached for him, Q grabbed Bond's arm pulling the agent off balance and twisting it up behind Bond's back. Before Bond had time to react, Q whipped him around, forcing him onto his knees with a swift kick to the back of the older agent's knees.

Q roughly grabbed a handful of Bond's hair, slamming his head forward against the side table hard enough to daze. "Or maybe you're just too pissed to give a damn either way." He slammed Bond's head forward again in emphasis. "I'm just about done giving a damn about you myself."

Q roughly shoved Bond's head to the side as he stepped away, putting a foot on the agent's slumped back and shoving him forward, neatly side stepping as Bond rallied enough to throw a hand out to grab at his ankle as he sprawled flat on the tile.

"Tut tut." Q mockingly chided, trapping the reaching hand under a slipper and grinding it against the floor. "Temper. Temper."

He took a step back and crouched down just outside of Bond's reach as Bond rolled over with a small groan. Q meet Bond's gaze dispassionately. "Time was, you would have had me on the floor before I could have thought of moving against you."

He looked over the agent's downed form and the glass and liquor spread across the tiles. "My, how the mighty have fallen." he sighed. He shook his head slowly.

"It's time to make a choice, Bond." He informed the agent, straightening slowly while staring down at the agent, he continued, "And don't touch me."

He cocked his head to the side, "The first time was fun, I admit, " He paused to look appreciatively up and down the agent's still-prone form, "but I'm afraid you just no longer measure up to expectations." He sighed, tisking softly, "A shame, really."

Q turned and walked away, listening to Bond slowly pull himself up behind him. As he neared the doorway, he turned to look back. "Chose quickly or there won't be a choice after all. I'm done waiting for you to catch up, 007 or no. If you still have what it takes to stay in the game... _prove_ it." He smirked slightly before turning back around in clear dismissal.

He continued walking, gracefully stretching out an absent arm and knocking the collection of bottles on the nearby bar cart to the floor as he passed. "And do do it sober, won't you?" he coolly dictated, not bothering to pause or look back.

The sound of a tumbler sailing towards the doorway as he exited was uniquely and wholly satisfying.

Q smoothly sidestepped the projectile, pausing in the entry way long enough to grab his shoes and coat before leaving the apartment and closing the door behind him with a decisive click. He pulled his mobile out of his coat pocket as he waited for the elevator. It was only a moment before a quiet ding announced it's arrival and the doors smoothly opened.

Q stepped in, turning and facing the mirrored front as the elevator doors closed. Locking his mobile with a swipe of his thumb, he reached over and handed it to the waiting R as he deftly snagged a hanger with a spare change of clothes out of her nimble fingers.

He quietly changed, fixing his hair with a flick of his fingers using his reflection in the mirrored interior, before slipping his coat on with practiced movements. He popped the collar against the sudden chill of the lobby as the doors swung open. Plucking his mobile from R's waiting palm, he strode smoothly out into he lobby, R falling in step beside him without saying a word, the satchel at her side now filled with a rather nice silk robe and pair of slippers.

They crossed the wide expanse of the lobby in silence. Reaching the entrance, Q reached for the door. "How did it go?" R inquired expressionlessly.

Q paused, turning slightly to meet R's gaze head on, "Better than expected." he replied tonelessly.

He pushed the door open. "Set it up."

He stepped over the threshold and out into the night air, pulling his jacket tight around him. Confident in R's abilities, he hailed a cab. It was time to go home. He sighed as he settled into the seat, wincing slightly as the endorphins and adrenaline began to fail and his aches began to sing a merry complaint. Tomorrow would come soon enough. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat, head pounding. But that was tomorrow.


End file.
